After making the most money in a single paycheck that I had ever made in my life (over $1000 in ONE Paycheck), we hit the town. Our roommates boyfriend (who she was definitely cheating on) (and was only our roommate because you needed a chick to get on a lease in NZ because the dudes have a history of fucking shit up) was in town, and bought us all a couple Jagerbombs. We had just got paid, so we bought a couple rounds. We were partying at my work establishment, so the girls bought me and crew another round.

For those of you keeping count at home, that’s 5 full Red Bulls in the span of a half hour. Now, Boulder Freeride was sponsored by Red Bull at the time, so my tolerance was quite high, but 5 bulls was enough to make any dude with balls full of testosterone flip off the wall.. And that’s exactly what I did. And then learned a very valuable lesson.

Never show off for a girl.

On the second attempt, I went to add some flair, and my foot got caught on the wall.

I was drunk as a skunk lying on the ground going GIVE ME A MINUTE! Scott looks at me and says “BRO, stop bitchin, straighten your foot out, and let’s go!” “Wait.. straighten my foot out?” I looked up, and my right foot was completely backwards on my leg. At that moment, I did what any drunk asshole would do, and I spun my foot back around. Then the pain truly kicked in.

“I NEED TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW!” I roared.

Needless to say, that trip was cut a little short. After a shot through the abdomen to bring my 70% chance of dying on the airplane home down to a measly 30% chance of death, and 36 hours of plane flights on baby Vicodin, I was home for 8 hours before I had surgery in the morning.

That was the day that I learned I was allergic to Fentanyl. After what was supposed to be a “quick surgery”, They had to sit me on the table and make sure I wasn’t going to die on the operating table. In the process, all local anesthetic had worn off, and they couldn’t get me any pain meds until I was awake to insure that I didn’t die. When they started to wake me up, I yelled from the darkest demons in my loins.

My brother said that they heard me yell in the waiting room, through 4 hospital double doors. Full fight or flight, I tried to get off of the table and run the fuck outta there. They kept pumping me full of pain meds and when asked what my pain level was, I screamed and flung spit in to the nurses face like the demon from hell I was in that moment. She said “Okay, you wont remember any of this” and pumped me full of some new shit that took me down a notch. This story determined that was a lie though, because I definitely remember it lol.

The healing process from that injury was wild. That night, no one told me that I had to stay ahead of the pain and wake up at 3am to take more percs. So queue another one of those screaming fits in the middle of the night. The doc put me on the max dose of Percocet, every 4 hours, until the bottles were gone. In the midst, I was allowed to finally take a shower after 4 weeks of rotting on the couch. That would turn to be disastrous..

When I was getting out of the shower, my mom’s glass shower door started to creak open slowly. I watched it in slow motion, and crutched towards it trying to stop it from hinging open. I realized I wasn’t going to make it and tried to back out, but it was too late. The door hinged, cracked around the bottom latch, and came down like a guillotine. The company installing the bathroom door went against code and didn’t install tempered glass.

There I stood, butt naked, with no glasses on, blind as a bat, and something inside of me started to scream. I looked down, and there was a HUGE pool of blood. I still couldn’t put any weight on my right leg, and my toe on the left was about to fall off after being sliced open. I screamed for my mom, who was on the other side of the house vacuuming. She couldn’t hear anything. Luckily, my dog did, and was doing circles around my mom. Prince was known to HATE the vacuum more than anything, so him being around her warranted a shut off of the vacuum. “PRINCE! What?”

A faint scream was heard in the other room. My mom came running in, and thankfully, I had managed to put a towel around myself. There I stood in the door way in a 10ft puddle of blood, about to pass out from blood loss. I watched my mom start to pass out as she ran towards me, and some maternal instinct kicked in, keeping her alive enough to get me horizontal, call my dad to come and help, and get my ass to the hospital.

I had cut the tendon and opened my shit right down to the bone. I refused pain killers because I had literally just got off the gnarliest addiction from the percs.

You see, being a patient in America, they prescribe opioids like candy, and after having that crazy first round, I became physically addicted to the medicine. I am one to push myself, so when I had 1 perc left, I decided it was time to quit. I tried to quit cold turkey.

I didn’t sleep for 3 days. I had spiders crawling all over my body. I couldn’t sit still. My eyes were black. I couldn’t stop sweating. On the fourth morning without sleeping, my mom woke up for work, found me on the couch tapping away at Fantasy Football (the only thing that kept me sane), and said “You still didn’t sleep last night? Take half that fucking pill right now”

I slept for 18 hours straight, woke up, took the other half, slept for another 12, and I was no longer addicted.

Needless to say, my pain tolerance was high enough at this point that I didn’t need anything for this “minor” injury.

The shit part was: it wasn’t healing. Something happened in the emergency room and they didn’t get me cleaned out right. So I was started down the gnarliest set of antibiotics we have, short of Cipro.

That would haunt me for 3 more years.

I was tired of sitting on the couch, and pissed that I missed half my snowboard season, so I went to the same PT facility that the dallas cowboys used and told them: I know this is a 9 month recovery time.. can we do it in 4?

I threw up the first day of PT, once from pain, once from cardio.